Poked
by Falsetto
Summary: After fighting a slimy creature Spike offers Angel to wash up at his place and gets...poked. Spangel.


**A/N: **This is just a oneshot piece of fluff that takes place sometime during season five. Enjoy.

WARNINGS: Slash and explicit sexual content. So there.

* * *

**Poked**

"Wesley could have warned us about this," Spike said as he stood in a dark alleyway, completely covered in greyish pus.

"He did," an equally pus-covered Angel replied with no small amount of controlled rage.

"He did? When? 'Cause I sure as hell wasn't prepared for the bloody thing _exploding_ as soon as I hit it!"

"Yes, he did! Right about when _you_ were saying 'It's the size of a rat, how dangerous can it be?' and running off without listening to a word he was saying!"

"Well, you still knew this was going to happen, why didn't _you_ warn me then?"

"I DID!"

Angel abandoned all rage-control and went for Spike with murder in his eyes. The thud when his fist connected with the jaw of that lame excuse for a Vampire-with-a-Soul™ was extremely satisfying. Less pleasing was the shattering pain as the man's knee connected with his goolies. Undead or not, he was still very much in possession of his cojones (_not_ a eunuch…) and it still hurt like a few years spent in a hell dimension whenever they got kicked in.

He sank to his knees, yelping like a wounded dog, and curled up in a foetal position on the asphalt, completely at Spike's mercy. He closed his eyes and prepared to get kicked around the alley for a while. No way was he going to get the upper hand with Spike having this kind of head start.

"Come on, get up," Spike said, sounding almost surprised, though the vague hint of "why am I doing this?" in the blond vampire's voice in no way could match Angels total lack of comprehension. Why wasn't he getting the crap beaten out of him?

"My place is closer, you can get cleaned up there if you want."

Had the man also offered a hand to help him up, Angel would have concluded that the blast when the creature blew itself up had somehow transported him to a weird, parallel universe where Spike was, if not nice, at least not filled with complete and utter resentment. As it was, the Brit seemed content to stand with his arms crossed over his chest and his usual, smug half-smile neatly placed on his face while Angel got back up, so probably nothing that dramatic had occurred.

His first instinct was to refuse the Englishman's offer. Nothing good could come from being alone with Spike in an area smaller than a football field with nothing but each other to fight, but on the other hand the pus covering them both actually seemed to get smellier by the second, and they had pursued the creature on foot.

"Yeah…sure, I guess…" Angel said hesitantly before blurting out, "Why didn't you kick my ass?"

"Because kicking your nuts would hurt you more. Let's go."

And that, Angel realised, was as much of an explanation he would get.

* * *

Spike's apartment was small but shabby, the only thing going for it being that it had a certain air of lived-iness about it. It was, despite all its misgivings, a home. Something that Angel still could not say about his Wolfram and Hart residence.

"Okay Muscles," Spike said, " I'm gonna go take a shower, and you will wait right here, without moving from this very spot, until I come back out."

Of course, why let the guest have a shower first?

As he waited, Angel searched around with his eyes for something to occupy himself with. He found a group of mould stains on the ceiling, and just as he had decided that yes, they did look like a Shvutzak demon if you squinted and tilted your head a little to the left, Spike came back out of the bathroom.

"You look like a bloody retard."

He was wearing nothing but a towel that he'd wrapped around his waist, and he'd done a sloppy job drying himself off because the skin was still gleaming with moisture. That wasn't what caught Angel's eye though. What caught his eye was the blond vampire's hair. It looked different when it wasn't gelled down to submission. It stood up in all directions, and a few strands fell decoratively across his forehead, as if on purpose.

Angel felt that he had seen that kind of look before. But where? Oh, yes…

"And you look like a Backstreet Boy. I was just looking at the mould stains over there. If you squint and tilt your head to the left they look like a Shvutzak demon."

He hadn't quite realized how stupid it would sound saying it out loud. It was an opening for verbal abuse that he knew Spike couldn't possibly let pass. But for the second time that day the other man did something completely unexpected.

He walked over to Angel, turned towards the mould stains, squinted, and tilted his head a little to the left.

"Yeah, they do. You can go have a shower now."

Angel took his shoes off and padded over the floor, shaking his head in disbelief. What the hell was going on?

The bathroom was filthy, and stank of pus. In a corner Spike had left his clothes (even the coveted leather duster) in a smelly, sticky heap. Many of the tiles covering the walls and floor were cracked, and so was the mirror hanging above a frankly disgusting washbasin that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since…ever.

Angel stood before the mirror, studying the cracks. A heavy crush mark in the centre with finer cracks spreading out from them, like someone had banged something against the glass. Perhaps a fist, Angel thought. He'd had mirrors just like this one.

He discarded his clothes and threw them in the same heap as Spike's before stepping into the bathtub. It was marginally cleaner than the rest of the room, but that wasn't saying much. Anything that could be was rusty, and the porcelain of the tub felt disturbingly slimy.

With thumb and index finger Angel pulled the pink (the hell?) shower drape and then turned on the shower. To his great relief water worked like a charm against the foul excretions splattered over him, and he was as good as free of it when he reached for the shampoo.

There were about a gazillion bottles to choose from, and they were all tossed in together in what looked like a basket crafted of chicken wire that was hanging from the ceiling on a piece of string. To add confusion, most of the labels were damaged beyond readability.

Supposing that no one could be too wrong, Angel turned off the water, grabbed a bottle, squeezed out a generous amount of the contents and started rubbing it in his hair and over his body.

It didn't take him long to realise that the stuff wasn't lathering properly, but whatever he might have thought he'd accidentally smeared himself with he still wasn't prepared for what it really was.

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrghhhhh!"

Spike came rushing into the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of unbuttoned, black jeans and brandishing a sword. He hurried up to the bathtub, yanking the shower drape away so forcibly that it came of the hooks it was hanging from. Behind it stood Angel, cowering and covering his privates with one hand, holding out the other as if it by some magical force could stop the blade should Spike take a swing at him.

Just Angel, butt naked and looking rather ridiculous.

"Spike..."

"What the bloody hell was all that screaming about?"

"Nothing... it was nothing."

"Nothing? It sure as hell didn't sound like nothing to me. You were squealing like a pig!"

"I'm telling you it was nothing!"

Spike took a closer look at the hand that Angel had been stretching out towards him, but had now lowered so that it too protected his scrotum. He realised that his grand-sire was holding something. A bottle.

Spike started to chuckle. A chuckle that became a chortle that became a full blown, belly aching guffaw.

The sword dropped to the floor with a resounding clang, and he had to sit down on the edge of the tub on account of his knees giving in from sheer amusement.

"You used... you thought... you thought it was shampoo!"

"Well, who in their right mind would have a bottle of _lube_ in the shower?"

Spike stopped laughing abruptly, looking suddenly appalled. "Who in their right mind doesn't? Are you telling me you've never had sex in the shower?"

"_Of course_ I've had… That's beside the point! You…"

"You've had sex in the shower without using lube? What are you, sadomasochistic? I mean, sure I like it rough but…damn!"

"Let me finish, damn it! You don't have to leave it standing in the shower!"

Spike was standing up again, and Angel had abandoned modesty in favour of vigorous gesturing, which made it pretty damn difficult not to look at the rather (it pained Spike to admit it) impressive cock that was dangling in plain sight.

"So you're basically of the opinion that every time I'm having a shower with someone and fancy a fuck I should get out of the shower to go to wherever I stash the lube and then get back in the shower to use it, instead of having it right there, ready to use? I mean, imagine that we are about to shag and compare this…" he ran across the bathroom, taking the time to button his jeans since they were falling off, and then ran back to get into the tub with Angel, "…To this…" Spike went close to Angel, closer than he was really comfortable with, and reached for the basket of chicken wire. "See how all I have to do is just reach out and what… the fuck?"

Angel looked at the ceiling, the wall just to the left of Spike's ear, Spike's forehead, any direction that didn't mean looking Spike in the eyes or looking down.

"It's nothing personal…"

"Nothing personal? Your penis is poking me!"

"Just… back away!"

Spike did so, with his horrified gaze still fixed on Angel's ginormous hard on. The man could smash a locked door open with that thing!

"Jesus Christ, I think I need to puke! I'm never gonna listen to Fred again! She said I should try being a little nicer to you, and look what happens!"

Angel felt hurt, not really knowing why. It was so perfectly logical that Spike had been less vicious than usual because he was trying to do something nice for Fred, who was someone he actually counted as a friend, rather than being less of an arse just because he'd decided that he didn't hate Angel after all.

Not that Angel didn't hate Spike as well. His hard on had nothing to do with the man at all, really. It was a pure coincidence that he got it the second Spike came just that little bit too close.

"This has nothing to do with you, I… I was thinking about Buffy!"

"Oh, you son of a…" Spike almost lunged for Angel, stopping himself in mid motion when he once more laid eyes on the thick rod that seemed to have no intention of stopping to be hard as a diamond. "Get dressed and get out," he said instead and got out of the tub, leaving the bathroom - and Angel - behind in a hurry.

"But I'm still covered in lube!"

"I don't fucking care!"

"Well, I do!" Angel yelled and turned on the water, deciding to ignore Spike's order. _If he wants me out he can come throw me out,_ he thought whilst making the water colder to get rid of the pesky erection that refused to simmer down.

* * *

In the meantime Spike was sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. He heard the shower getting turned on, but he couldn't be bothered with going back to tell Angel to shove off.

Who was he kidding? He was terrified.

It could no longer be denied that Angel was attracted to him. He'd put down considerable effort to hide that fact from himself and quite frankly he was a bit annoyed that his precious illusions had been so cruelly snatched from him. Because if Angel was attracted to him there was no longer a reason to suppress…Spike sighed.

To suppress his own feelings for Angel.

It couldn't possibly work. Angel loved Buffy - or possibly Cordelia, he wasn't sure - and so did he come to think of it. Love Buffy, that is. He didn't really know Cordelia.

Yes, they were both emotionally engaged elsewhere. It would be utterly stupid to try to be anything else than reluctant allies. Definitively. Positively. Absolutely.

"Bugger."

He got up from the bed and went to the bathroom. The sight that met him stopped him in his tracks.

Angel, eyes closed and covered in water. Naked. And Spike's mind without the shields that had previously protected it.

He took his jeans off and went equally naked to once more join Angel in the bathtub. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but being hit by liquid ice hadn't even been on the list of considered possibilities.

"Aaaarrrrrgh! Who the fuck takes showers this cold!"

"Aaaaaaaarrrgh! What the hell are you doing here?"

Spike pushed Angel aside and turned the water off, before getting pushed out of the tub. It hurt like five shagging rag dolls to hit he floor head first, and had he been anything other than a vampire he would have been unconscious. As it was, he got back up and fixed Angel with a fierce glare.

"Look, you started this…"

"I didn't start _shit_!"

Spike, knowing that he might be putting his life on the line, got back into the tub.

"Angel, we have feelings for each other. Face it."

Angel laughed. "Feelings? For you? I love…"

Whatever Angel was going to say, Spike didn't want to hear it, so he grabbed Angel's face and covered the man's lips with his own. When Angel broke free of the kiss Spike spoke before the other vampire could say or do anything.

"I know. Shut up."

"But _you _love…"

"Shut _up_."

Angel stared at Spike, realising that what was going on inside of the other man was a perfect mirror of what was happening within himself. What had been happening for quite some time.

He still loved Buffy, would in some way always love her, and the unfulfilled love between him and Cordelia would forever be a sore spot in his heart. And sure, something might be happening between him and Nina, though it was still too new to discern exactly what it was.

But he still wanted Spike with the heat of a forest fire.

He carefully laid his hands on Spike's biceps, sliding them up over the shoulders and then back down over the chest, feeling the tense, taught musculature under the smooth skin. Spike stood still, not daring to move lest it would make Angel stop doing what he was doing.

Then Angel took hold of his hands, guiding them towards that beautiful, gleaming body, and Spike knew that it was alright, that this was going to happen.

They kept exploring for a long, long time. Just standing still, nothing moving but their hands, all in perfect silence.

Then, they ventured for a kiss again. Tender this time, and slow. Neither of them could suppress small, muffled moans when the tips of their tongues met, and as the kiss deepened they clung to each other like survivors from a shipwreck hanging on to the last floating pieces of that which had been carrying them across the sea.

And something about that, the intensity and sheer _need_, pushed Angel over the edge a lot sooner than he would have liked, the only comfort being that Spike too was shivering in is arms.

When he dared look at Spike again, it was with no small amount of embarrassment.

"I'm… sorry?"

"Hey, I'm glad I wasn't the only Mr. Premature here."

They shared a laugh, but then Angel's face turned severe again. There was something he knew needed to be said.

"Spike, I love…"

"I know, don't say it."

"… you. I love you."


End file.
